


open position, closed position

by thalassashells



Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: F/F, Fantasy gender politics that i am using for my own self expression, Other characters in minor roles - Freeform, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, background sheelos, fantasy homophobia that once again i am gay and using for my own self expression, lesbianb? lesbibnan? lebian?, so far thats all of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassashells/pseuds/thalassashells
Summary: The world is saved, making way for new problems, new opportunities, and a whole lot of formal events.(a very self indulgent post-canon seles/colette slowburn based around aselian political drama, or something)
Relationships: Colette Brunel/Seles Wilder
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. frame

**Author's Note:**

> im sick of editing this its been sitting in a gdoc for what feels like a year and may actually be a year and its supposed to be chapter one of a multichapter fic which i have never, ever actually succeeded in writing but every day is a new day so lets try this girls

Aselian Calendar Year 01, Eighth Month, 7th Day.

Sylvaranti Calendar Year 409, Efreetsthine, 31st Day.

Tethe'allan Calendar Year 406, Eul'yan, 7th Day.

Colette Brunel, the former Chosen of Sylvarant and the current diplomat for her hometown of Iselia, is awoken around noon by a knock on her door.

She rises quickly, having overslept already, and throws a coat over her nightgown. She shivers off the cool floor under her feet and the autumn-chilled breeze drifting through her window. Even now, almost a year later, every sensation is a little gift.

With messy steps and a few near-falls she dashes down the stairs and to the door, past her dear grandmother napping peacefully a room away.

“Hello!” She says as she swings the door open and nearly smacks herself in the foot. A day of near misses, and she’d only just woken up.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m looking for a Miss Brunel?” Says the postman – and a postman he is, with a satchel and everything. Colette finds that  _ too _ cute.

“That’s me!” She says, “But I wasn’t expecting mail...”

He reaches into his satchel and runs his finger across a series of different letters, some thick and some as thin as a single sheet, and she watches with sleepy anticipation to see where he stops. In moments, he comes to a sturdy-looking red envelope sealed with black wax. It looks alarmingly Meltokian.

“For you, miss.” He offers the letter with a smile and she takes it perhaps more quickly than is polite. The seal does indeed bear the coat of arms of Tethe’alla’s Royal Court – two swords crossed, each clasped in the beak of a bird of prey in flight.

“Thank you, sir!” She says while nodding frantically, desperate to be off and reading the contents, “Oh, do I owe you..?”

He holds up his hands as she starts to fish through pockets her nightgown does not actually have.

“All expenses paid. Have a good day, Miss Brunel.” He smiles and salutes, before marching off on his way.

She stays in the doorway and waves until he is out of sight. Good, now she can rush over to the table and pry this mysterious letter open. Which she does.

The seal comes away more easily than she expects, unfolding a letter written in glossy, gold ink.

_ Dear Lady Brunel, _

_ The Tethe’allan Council humbly requests the honor of your presence at the World Reunification Ball in recognition of your heroism and continued efforts in the name of rebuilding. _

_ The ball will be held on the 20 _ _ th _ _ day of the Eighth Month at Seven o’clock in the evening in Meltokio’s own Royal Palace. _

_ We request prompt arrival and formal attire. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Isaac, Royal Scribe of His Majesty the King _

Colette stares wide eyed at the paper in her hand. Wonderful! Oh, but she's thoughtlessly crushed the wax seal in her hand while reading. She places it ever so covertly in a rubbish bin near the table.

“Grandmother!” She calls, dashing into the living room where her grandmother sunned herself.

“Hmm?” Her grandmother replies sleepily, looking over her shoulder.

“I’m going to a party!” She says, as though it is the very first time. She’s been to many events in Meltokio by now, and many more in other cities across both Sylvarant and Tethe’alla (though the borders were unclear, and claims changed by the day.)

“Oh! Will you bring Lloyd?” The old woman smiles serenely.

“Of course. I’m sure he was invited too, right?” Colette is padding about the living room looking for her coat and shoes as though she is leaving this very moment and not in a few weeks.

“It would be strange indeed to not invite  _ all  _ the heroes of the united world, right?" She says, rocking to her feet to open the window, "Unless someone was trying to win your favor."

"Grandmother!" Colette protests, "Who would even…?"

Philia shrugs, a mischievous smile on her face, "You're a popular young lady, my dear. Surely every suitor in Tethe'alla wants your hand?"

Colette turns beet red. "That's not-!" She starts, before realizing that, oh no, maybe it is? Who would be there? The Flanoir physician's son, with his father's disposition for business? Princess Hilda was surely engaged, and far too old for her. That left a sea of faces she couldn't put names to, a few women whose faces she knew because their dogs were friendly, and the ever elusive Seles Wilder.

Zelos's sister, a nonentity to most, but a trick card in the Church of Martel's pocket. Colette's heart ached for her - none of the respect or benefit of being the Chosen of Mana, and all of the looming dread. Colette wonders sometimes if she could have been like her, retired to a faraway abbey until her time came. 

It had been an option presented to her, and one that would have been wholly supported by the people of Iselia, happy to be remembered for their devout Chosen. With the exception, of course, of her father, Lloyd, and Genis. 

It shamed her, for she had often longed for the silence that surely bore down on Seles. She'd craved an empty life that left nothing behind but an empty bed. Such desires left her feeling sick, now. Guilty in every joint.

Philia squeezes her shoulder and she returns from her thoughts. 

"Don't think too hard about such things, Colette." She says.

"You're right," Colette sighs, "you're right."

-

Seles receives invitations only because Zelos receives them, and he tells the Royal Scribe that he should really make a copy, just in case he loses his. The copy then makes its way to the mailbox under her name, newly constructed outside the Wilder mansion, and she retrieves it.

It stings to only receive letters addressed to “Master Wilder” or “Chosen One”, to be passed from her hands into her brother’s while her mailbox remains pristine and near perpetually empty. Today, when she tries to hand the letter mistakenly placed in her mailbox to her brother, he lifts his own invitation and shakes his head.

“That one’s yours, kiddo.” He says.

She furrows her brow.

“I mean it. Open it up.”

She does as he says. To her surprise, it even says her name. Not just “Wilder” or a generic “Mistress”, but an address to one Lady Seles Wilder. 

She lowers the paper to look Zelos in the eye.

"Did you make them write this?" She asks.

He shrugs, "I pulled some strings, sure. But from now on, your name is on the mailing list."

Seles looks silently between him and the invitation. She would not be a 'plus one' nor an uninvited guest, but an honored presence. A flutter pulses through her chest that confuses fear and joy before it ever reaches her brain.

Zelos grimaces, "Uh, I know 'stuffy parties' aren't exactly your dream, but -"

"No. It's good." Her fingers press a light crinkle into the sides of the paper, of her newfound public identity, "It's really good, Zelos."

He beams, real, and she knows it's real because he shows his teeth.

\----

Aselia Calendar Year 01, Eighth Month, 19th Day.

Sylvaranti Calendar Year 409, Sylphsthine, 12th Day.

Tethe'allan Calendar Year 406, Eul'yan, 19th Day.

Colette looks through her closet again. Robes, church robes, pyjamas, robes, and more robes. Lloyd sits on her bed with his chin in his hand.

"Come on, Colette. You've only got three dresses in the first place." He sighs, flopping onto his back. He's already wrinkled the fine suit he's wearing, the same one he wore to the first ball they attended in Meltokio. 

"And..." Colette whips her head around to make a comment, and realizes she doesn't have a good argument to brook, "Well, it seemed important!"

"I guess, if you ask Zelos." Lloyd says.

"...I wouldn't want to ask Zelos." Colette admits, however she loathes to be rude. She's found in the past few months that his advice, simply put, isn't good. 

"So just wear the one you like." Lloyd smiles, "You'll look good! It's like Dad says: 'It's not the clothes, but the man who wears it'."

"Does it work for girls?"

"I think it works for anyone."

"Okay." Colette nods seriously.

He sits up and watches her splay out the skirt of her spring dress, light and airy fabric that shimmered in sunlight. When she meets his eyes they are dreamy, distant. It's not the first time she's caught him looking at her like this, and it always shocks her. 

Lloyd has been a comforting presence since the end of their journey - meaning, he hasn't changed a bit.

Or - the way he talks to Colette hasn't changed.

Or - it's all changed one tiny fragment at a time, and Colette has been too busy to notice. Too busy getting back to normal, too busy tightening the stitches on the world they'd rebuilt to check the way Lloyd had grown next to her. The way she had grown next to him. 

But it is easy to ignore. She pretends that when he smooths her sleeve, it is with the same friendly brusqueness with which he would assist Genis, and not with more delicate hands than she has ever known him to have. 

"Is it gonna be one of the nice carriages?" Lloyd asks with a beaming grin, and Colette realizes she's been silent for a moment too long, still watching the place where the crease in her sleeve used to be.

"Um, I hope so! They said it was royal, which means it has...those animals."

"Horses?"

"Yeah, horses!" 

"I'unno why they're such a big deal in Tethe'alla," Lloyd says as he picks his nose with his pinky, "They smell  _ so _ bad.'" 

Maybe he hadn't changed all too much after all. Before she can start to wrack her brain for an answer (not that it mattered, because Lloyd always returned to 'why not Noishe?', as though he had a dozen of him waiting in the wings), a knock sounds from the front door. 

Colette pokes her head out her window to find that the carriage is, indeed, very nice.

__

Whoever is in that mirror, it is not Seles Wilder.

Her hair is gathered in a tight bun, decorated by a silver accessory that clipped around it, a true sapphire adorning the top. Her face is stiff and smooth with powders and creams, accentuating her eyes and making her eyelashes more pronounced than they had ever been. Worst, her hat is discarded on a chair far from the makeup table. 

She feels absolutely naked.

"I'm starting to see why the nuns renounce this kind of thing," Seles grumbles, "chastity is a good excuse."

Zelos _tsks_ , "You said you wanted to dress up proper, so I'm dressing you up proper."

You don't wear this stuff." Seles says.

"I  _ do!  _ Just because you don't notice...man, they didn't teach you a thing in there." He shakes his head and sighs.

Seles traces her finger across the beads that decorate the front of her powder blue gown, a series of silver and white accents on the rich fabric. Zelos told her it was the only one in winter colors, and while she understood the theoretical importance, the distinction didn't move her at all. 

"Can't I wear a suit?" She asks.

Zelos quietly smooths the shoulder of her dress. Seles watches his face turn oddly serious in the mirror.

"Not this time." He answers, though he seems unhappy to say it, "No time to get it tailored. And…"

Seles silently waits for him to finish.

He scratches the back of his head, "It's hard to get good dyes this kind of year. It'd be all the wrong colors."

"Periwinkle is in harvest east of Ozette right now. North of the abbey, milkweed beetle farms have been making shipments since the month turned. The major routes are trading nearly exclusively in blue right now." Seles counters. She remembers every shipment and courier who came to the abbey and the hopelessly tedious news they brought. There was nothing else to memorize. 

Zelos looks as though he's been caught stealing, and turns from Seles's withering gaze.

"You don't want to be mocked for bringing me dressed as a man." She states.

"I don't want  _ you  _ to lose all the opportunity that's opening up. These people are vultures, Seles, if they see something they can bring you down for-"

"You get away with it every day!" She stands, stabbing a finger into his chest. She's not used to how tall she is compared to him now, not even a head of height between them.

His lip twists, "Because I -"

"Because you're the Chosen, and you can do whatever you want!"

"Because I'm the Chosen and they already  _ hate me! _ " Zelos raises his voice, his shoulders tight and neck stiff, "And I can't protect you!"

_ I'll protect myself! I've done it without you so far!  _ Is what she wants to yell, but her seventeen years have done nothing but prove that wrong. She gives up, shame creeping in where her anger had been. What she says instead is, "I'm sorry."

"Come on, don't apologize." Zelos murmurs, resting a hand on her shoulder, "It's not like this is the answer I wanna give you."

"Why do you even go to these things?" Seles asks, smoothing back a loose strand of hair that fell from her barrette.

Zelos shrugs, "Well, now my friends go. I don't know why I did it before."

A little light pops in Seles's brain. Right, his friends. "Will they all be there?"

"They're all invited, that's for sure. Lloyd, Colette, Raine...the whole bunch of them." He looks up, as though trying to tally them all in his head.

Colette. The other Chosen, the one with the sad eyes and the soft hair. The last time she'd seen her, she'd been in Sylvaranti pilgrimage robes, kneeling before the altar in Seles's very own abbey. Colette had whispered her prayers dutifully against the stone, in the style of her homeland, and finished with a kiss to the altar. Seles had only ever prayed so truly under the cover of night, when the dim candles were not enough for the nuns to see her face.

How would Colette pray now that she was free? How did a Sylvaranti Chosen dress to meet with nobility? Her mentor, that professor, had worn trousers as confidently as a man. She'd have to go to this ball, if only to see them. 

"Seles? Anyone in there?" Zelos waves her hand in front of her face. 

"Mn." She replies, "Yes. I was just -"

"Daydreaming about dye delivery routes?"

"At least I think."

Zelos laughs quietly. "Listen, though." 

Seles crosses her arms.

"I've got some suits from when I was your age. They might not fit quite right, and you'll look totally out of fashion, but they should do the trick." He says, turning serious. The nerves are still apparent, twisting his lip and eyebrows, almost as apparent as the guilt that he ever said no.

Seles jolts with what is, to her, an unseemly amount of eagerness. She nods.

Zelos clasps his hands together in front of him with a grunt of affirmation. "Let's get to it, then! I'm gonna need to hem these…" 

\---

Aselia Calendar Year 01, Eighth Month, 20th Day.

Sylvaranti Calendar Year 409, Sylphsthine, 13th Day.

Tethe'allan Calendar Year 406, Eul'yan, 20th Day.

On Meltokio's royal palace, the dual banners of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla strike green and gold against red and turquoise, shattering into the array of torches lit between them like tiny stars. The first of the two moons hangs high in the midwinter sky, though the night is young. Aselians who were once Sylvaranti find the length of the days alarming, exciting, while Aselians who were once Tethe'allan follow streetlamps they've known their whole lives.

The clock rings six times, and the carriages are guided to the royal hall.


	2. pivot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote the second chapter??????????????????????  
> also authors note: sheena is wearing a men's kimono on purpose!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! because GUESS WHAT like everyone in this fic is transgender. lol

Seles has never been this close to the castle.

She thought she had before tonight. She and her mother lived in Meltokio proper, a staircase and a bad decision away from the noble’s quarter. From the noble’s quarter you were a stone’s throw from the castle, who’s foundations were that of the whole city. If anything, you could never be too far away.

But the stairs are so large that it takes all of her practised poise to climb them with grace, and the towering doors look too heavy for a human to open. She takes a deep breath.

Zelos had informed her even before leaving the carriage that she would be watched every step of the way.

_ They’ll watch you, _ he had said,  _ and they’ll act like they aren’t. They’re looking for anything they can get, no matter how nice they seem. So don’t give them a shred. _

She had nodded and tried not to roll her eyes. The advice seemed childish beyond compare – of course she knows the rules. Every delegate to the abbey played by them, even among nuns sworn to truth and loyalty. Honour was the first thing on the tongue of the people of Meltokio, and the last thing in their hearts. Seles thought she was ready.

Zelos took the brunt of the entrance – clad in a knee length, red coat of crushed velvet, embroidered with gold stitching and a high fur collar in black – walking with his head high and his steps extravagant. He greets people in quick succession, flashing smiles and not-so-covertly kissing hands, carving a path up the stairs for Seles to follow in his shadow.

By the time the door is in sight, it’s only been less than a minute, but her head feels ready to explode. Atop the stairs stand princess Hilda and her father, ready to receive the two of them as guests of honour. Zelos’s forced exuberance cannot maintain itself when faced with her. Hilda looks less than pleased, herself. Their smiles work overtime to mask grimaces.

Zelos bows at the waist and Hilda offers her hand to be kissed. He does so, then rises to kiss her cheek as is customary between those to be wed. The king maintains his gaze steadily down the stairs and past the ordeal unfolding beside him. They hardly let it linger before disentangling themselves and Seles is far too happy to enter the less-crowded ballroom. The idea that, had they switched places, she would be playing the lover of some noble’s son in public made her stomach churn. It is with a good deal of guilt that she thanks Martel for not subjecting her to that.

The interior is extravagant, but compared to the number of people rushing the stairs and courtyard, it may as well be a cave on a mountaintop. While the common men to the minor lords associated amongst themselves in their manors and on the streets, the elite among the elite were expected here, in the King’s presence.

Seles realises quickly that this does not mean those  _ liked  _ by the King, only those  _ expected _ to be such. She realises this because, of all people, the Pope is greeted at the door.

“Why is he here?” Seles whispers harshly to her brother.

“Because if he wasn’t, the priesthood would revolt.” Zelos murmurs back.

“I thought they abandoned him?”

“Not the rich ones.”

Seles chews the inside of her cheek. Yet another landmine to avoid stepping on tonight.

“When will your friends be here?” She asks.

“Well, I saw the Mizuho delegation arrive just after us. So Sheena will be here soon.” Zelos says as he guides Seles to a table entirely filled with decadent, obscenely expensive platters of food and drink. He fills a cup of champagne and drinks it faster than is polite.

He offers her one. She takes it.

“What about the rest of them?” Seles asks and takes a sip of her champagne. Zelos is eyeing her as she does not gag. If he has a problem with her proficiency, he doesn’t make it known.

“Our good ol’ Sylvaranti delegates? I dunno, but soon. Leave it to Lloyd and Colette to be late.” Zelos shrugs, “They don’t know how to act for parties like this. I made arrangements for them to come through the back door.”

“And not us?”

“I can only push it so far.”

Another faceless nobleman in a line of many passes by Hilda and the king, and Seles once more tries to imagine herself kissing him. So far, it still makes her wish she’d taken vows of chastity. She prays that soon, it will fade into a dull ache that she can live with.

Seles leans against the table. She's been saving her energy all day for this, and she wouldn't want the pain to kick in before she's even danced. Her Exphere acts of its own accord when her pains threaten to make themselves known - and out of a desire to one day be without it, she tries to prevent its activation whatsoever. 

"Doing alright?" Zelos asks, because he always notices. 

"Yeah," She rolls her shoulders to check, "Should make it."

"Tell me if you need help."

"If I have to."

That is when the chief of Mizuho makes her appearance. She holds her head high to mask her - compared to the average Meltokian – diminutive size, and wears a black robe adorned with what Seles is fairly sure are the Igaguri family crests, atop each shoulder and emblazoned on the back. She exchanges bows and handshakes with the royals, and Zelos cranes his neck to watch like a dog waiting to bolt.

The second Sheena is free of the formalities, Zelos casts a questioning glance to Seles.

Seles sips her champagne and gestures in Sheena’s direction, “Go on.”

He trots off towards her with surprising control despite his high heeled boots, and they nearly collide at the centre of the hall. Sheena sticks her chin up and seems to scold him, but he leans in and whispers something to her while eyeing another group of party goers that makes her stifle a laugh. He sticks his chin up in a mockery of her, scolding her for such impropriety in turn. She pinches him on the bridge of his nose and he squeaks.

Seles watches the display unfold with tired eyes. The last time she’d seen the two of them together, there was no such levity. Something must have happened on their grand adventure that she’d missed out on to fill in those cracks. Another way the world turned upon itself while she was hidden away, her only knowledge that anything had changed coming in infrequent visits and earthquakes that hardly stirred her.

It is nearly twenty minutes past the hour when the door just right of the stage – currently holding the royal orchestra, playing a song Seles was sick to death of already – opens.

The Sylvaranti are guided in by a concierge who bows low, and the first to enter is their Chosen.

–

Colette wonders how long it takes to make a flag the size of the one fluttering behind their carriage.

She asks Lloyd a few hours into the trip, and he takes the last hour to explain it. He gestures and beams as he describes the step by step of the craft, one that he had never taken part in but always adored just the same. Colette loves to watch him describe handiwork . Through him, she imagines having a passion so profound.

“...and after that, it’s ready to fly!” He finishes and slaps his hands together.

“ _ Signori _ , please refrain from such noises.” The coachman calls from the front of the carriage for the fourth time this trip, “You may scare the horses.”

“Sorry!” Lloyd and Colette say together in a harsh stage whisper.

A few seconds of tight lipped silence pass, and they both break into chuckles.

“So, what’d you wanna know about flags for?” Lloyd asks.

“Um, it’s just that...the Heart of Martel…?”

“What about it?”

“Mhm. The one they made for us is the wrong colour. So I thought, if it was going to take so long to make, maybe they should’ve asked us first?”

Lloyd peeks his head out the window to observe the green and silver flag. The Heart of Martel that hung outside and inside of the Houses of Salvation was nearly always blue or brown and accented in gold.

“Oh...yeah, what the heck?” He sniffs, “That’s our, uh, country they’re representing! They could at least get it right!”

Once again, Lloyd speaks where Colette can only think. Before she can open her mouth again, the carriage bumps as it passes from worn dirt roads into the stone streets of the city, knocking her thought from her head. The colourful lights of magitechnology at work splinter as they pass through the windows, brighter and more firm than any natural flame or mana-lit lantern.

“We are here,  _ signori _ . Please -”

Lloyd is already opening the carriage door from the inside straight into the concierge who awaited them. Colette gasps and slaps her hand over her mouth as the poor man barely avoids a head to head confrontation with varnished wood that he would surely have lost.

“Oh, sorry!” Lloyd says

The concierge assures them that all is well, though Lloyd and Colette have already been distracted by the second Sylvaranti carriage pulling in across the way. From it, in much more graceful form, step Genis and Raine. Lloyd and Colette raise their hands above their heads and wave wildly, and receive a similar reception from Genis. Raine smiles and nods her head.

"You guys look sharp!" Lloyd chirps across the footpath even as the Sage siblings are crossing to them.

"I like your staff!" Colette adds, pointing to the fairly massive rod in Raine's hands.

Genis brushes his hand across his nose and laughs, "I'unno, I feel kinda stuffy in all this."

"Heimdall lent us these robes as a symbol of solidarity. We have to wear them proudly." Raine admonishes him, though she does not seem any more mobile in the heavy layers of fabric draped across her person, "After all, things are simply  _ too delicate _ for them to send their  _ own _ dignitary."

"At least you could hide a lot of books in your coat, Ms. Raine." Colette beams.

Raine places a hand on Colette's head and strokes her hair - careful not to disrupt the wooden pins that were carefully braided across the crown of her head.

"That I could, Colette. I commend your thoughtful analysis." She says with reservation.

Colette had not seen the Sage siblings since they had gone on their own journey across Aselia. When Raine looks at her, her gaze is still tinged with apprehension. Colette had always filed Raine's compliments away in a distant part of her heart. She was gentle with Colette like an hourglass with only so much time, tilted off center to keep the grains from falling.

"I've been practicing my maths. I'll show you what I've learned after the party!" Colette announces, knowing full well that she only brought a notebook for the night and a book she was reading for leisure. The notebook contained some formulas from a set of practice questions Raine had left her and Lloyd with.

Raine's eyebrows twitch with surprise before her usual calm expression takes back over. She seems to understand - Colette's hourglass is no longer speeding towards an ending.

"I expect a comprehensive explanation." She says with an authoritative  _ thunk _ of her staff against the stone.

Colette nods vigorously, "And I would like a thorough critique!"

Meanwhile, Lloyd and Genis are nearing the end of their extremely long, elaborate 'secret handshake', which involves gestures that may or may not be obscene in Tethe'alla. The concierge watches them with wide eyes and tight lips.

"Ahem," The concierge clears his throat loudly, "May I escort you to the hall? The Chosen has requested that you use the private entrance - to preserve your dignity, I assume."

The four Sylvaranti breathe a sigh of relief in unison. Once, just once, Zelos came through.

"Of course." Raine tips her head politely, "Please, lead the way."

They titter among themselves while following the concierge through the back hallways of the castle. It felt strange to walk freely, here, despite the fact that only months ago they were scuffling with Papal Knights in these very corridors. Colette points out a pillar that still bears the mark of her chakrams chipping two diagonal lines through the marble. Everyone but the concierge laughs.

Said concierge is more than relieved to finally show the group to a tall door.

"Now," He says loudly to silence the chatter, "the King will be waiting to greet you. In Tethe'alla, you will be expected to bow or curtsey when he addresses you. You will then address Princess Hilda in the same manner. Please refrain from touching them. The one exception will be the Chosen, who will shake their hands."

A hollow thud resounds in Colette's chest as she is singled out. She stares ahead even as her friends cannot help but look at her with what would undoubtedly be pity, should she meet their eyes. Her smile grows wider as she nods at the concierge.

He arranges them thus: Colette at the head of the group, with Lloyd, Genis, and Raine in a horizontal line behind her. She wishes she could dip behind them. Lloyd would take the helm so easily on any other day. If only the battlefield hadn't shifted so far into the city.

Colette takes a deep breath, runs her fingers through her hair, and makes her entrance.

As promised, the King and Hilda are the first people they see. They are wreathed in the golden light of the magitechnology chandeliers, the glimmering thread and fur that lined their outfits making them seem larger than life. Hilda's crown alone was blinding, draped in translucent blue crystals that hung down to her chin.

Did Colette ever really know the meaning of 'formality'? Meltokio makes her doubt it.

She allows their lengthy greeting to wash over her as she starts to feel like an idiot in her 'formal dress'. The thick, deep brown fabric that she wore only had a few points of detail, and her shape is indiscernible beneath it's stiff, square pattern. Atop it she wears a small, green cape that hangs longer down the back. Both had been made by her grandmother, but however she treasured them the simplicity felt out of date. Yesterday for her was a distant, undesirable world for Meltokio. A remnant of worse days.

"...Please, enjoy yourselves for as long as you would like. We hope our accommodations suit you." Hilda finally finishes with a curtsy.

Colette has already shaken their hands before she comes back to her body. Just like her birthdays before her pilgrimage, though in Sylvarant she was kissing people's foreheads. She gets the feeling that such a display would be completely out of line in Tethe'alla. Lloyd is fidgeting behind her: she can tell by the rhythmic tapping of his heel. If he doesn't get out on that dancefloor soon, a diplomatic incident by way of boredom may be unavoidable.

Thankfully, that is precisely when they are set free from one planned social ritual into a world of unannounced ones. The band is playing cheerily, encouraging all guests to mingle with abandon. Lloyd, unsurprisingly, walks straight to the snack table.

Colette takes her time to survey the room, trying to spot a single face she knows in the sea of guests. She thought there would be less people in a place so elite, but she has always underestimated Meltokio's sheer density. That, and everything was inside.

"Surely this would be nicer in the open air?" Says Raine.

"In the winter?" Colette asks, "Their winters are so much worse!"

"Then they should hold it some other time. Besides, these are our winters now as well." Raine shrugs. She makes no indication that she remembers the Tethe'allan winter before she was cast into Sylvarant - but she does not seem grateful to have it back.

Raine puts a hand on her shoulder and points the directionless Colette towards the snack table, "Go be with Lloyd, won't you? I'm sure you'll find everyone soon."

Colette focuses her eyes on the white back of Lloyd's suit, using him as a center around which she could anchor this chaos. Her excitement for this day was being battered away piece by piece, but she won't let the discomfort drive her out. She hasn't seen Sheena, Zelos, or Presea in so long. Passing up the opportunity would be unthinkable.

So with graceful steps and her head held high, she marches towards the center of the hall. With her gaze fixed on Lloyd, she completely fails to notice the boy passing directly into her path -

He's a sturdy blur of orange and white, one which maintains his poise through the collision. Colette's soul is screaming to be anywhere but here right now. Maybe the bottom of the ocean? The heart of a volcano?

"I'm so sorry!" She exclaims a few times over, refusing to look up at the most recent victim of her clumsiness. Oh, there's a good excuse. He's dropped his hat. A beautiful, white tricorn cap adorned with studs of yellow topaz and a long, curling feather. It's fallen right beside his polished leather shoes.

Colette rises and thrusts the hat towards him with her eyes squeezed shut.  _ Please forgive me,  _ she begs internally.

The hat is silently taken from her hands. She opens one eye slowly.

Before her is no noble son, but a girl she's met only twice before and thought of many times since. Seles Wilder, wide eyed and gripping a glass of champagne.

\---

She'd meant to watch the greeting ceremony as the Sylvaranti arrived. Really, she had. However, it went on too long and Seles has an escape to make. The crowd has separated her from Zelos, couples swaying with the newly renewed waltz and passing partners between each other in an unwelcome chaos. Among them, the Pope has come within eyesight, and Seles cannot stand to remain where he might confront her. Had Zelos given her advice about this? What to say to him, should he speak to her? No, no - it doesn't matter. She just has to leave.

So, she refills her champagne glass once more and walks with her head held high to the back of the ballroom, where the Sylvaranti would be mingling. She assumes less people will be keen to see them - they had little to offer aside from goodwill. That boy, the hero, passes by her as she weaves between guests to find a quiet place. He takes fiendishly to the finger sandwiches. Is this all a hero was when the fighting was over?

As she glances over her shoulder to see if she's outpaced the Pope, she's assaulted from her blindside. Her hat is knocked from her head and she can barely help but scold the bumbling, poorly dressed idiot who's waylaid her. Sorry, the girl says, sorry -

And then she is looking at Colette Brunel, with her round face and golden straw hair done up in a braid, offering Seles her hat back.

She accepts it. Their fingers brush as she does, and Seles wonders if it is Colette's hands that are burning with warmth or her own that are cold.

"Seles!" Colette exclaims as though she knows her well, "You're here!"

Seles's eyebrows shoot up. Not even a 'Lady' precedes her name in Colette's overly familiar mouth. She then goes a step further and clasps her rough hands over one of Seles's, shaking her firmly.

"Oh, I'm so glad! Why don't you come hang out with me and Lloyd? Have you moved back to Meltokio? Is there..." Colette babbles excitedly, a gigantic exhale of sincerity. After a few hours of holding her breath in front of every person she passed, the audacity sets something off inside her.

But there is no time to confront that fire flickering in her chest: the Pope has managed to wade this way. Seles looks between the priests, who have stopped to speak to some of the men who came with Sheena, and Colette, and makes a very foolish decision.

"...you okay? Do you want to go outsi--ah!"

After she places the glass in the hand of a nearby servant, Seles throws her arm around Colette's waist and pulls her in close. No, she's never led a dance. Yes, she's been taught since the day she could take her own steps how to follow. But she has watched the instructors nonetheless, and the men making their clumsy way with women in the dancehall who accept their poor form as a given.

Colette follows poorly. If she's ever done this, it is not showing in her messy footwork. The heat in her chest is bursting again. Did she never have to learn? She tries, at least. She watches their feet as often as she looks Seles in the eye, baffled.

Slowly turning them so they obscure each other, trying not to move faster than the pace the band sets, Seles leans in and whispers: "Just pretend I'm your man."

\---

Colette's heart may just burst.

Seles's hand is firm and steady against her lower back, their other hands entwined at their side. And what soft hands they were - if cold. She's nearly a head taller than Colette, forcing her to crane her neck just to make eye contact, and her heart only beats more fiercely when she does so. Those emerald green eyes cast in the shadow of her cap, looking down into her-

And then she says, her breath brushing Colette's ear:  _ Just pretend I'm your man. _

She could have guessed this was a dance of necessity. The blush in her cheeks deepens with embarrassment.

Her words set off a tiny spark in Colette's head, one she had refused to light before: that no women were dancing together besides them. When Colette swivels her head to check the room, she confirms that there are no pairs of men either.

Her pulse seizes as fast as it had risen.

"Should we not be dancing?" Colette asks quietly.

Seles narrows her eyes, "No."

"Then why?"

"I'll tell you later."

Seles pulls them apart and spins Colette with their hands still entwined. She nearly trips, but luck was on her side for one brief moment of the night. For someone who did not want to be dancing with her, Seles never once failed to move her with grace.

The band transitions to another piece, one less suited for such a dance, and the tension has eased from Seles's shoulders.

Seles pulls away from her and bows at the waist, still holding Colette's hand. She rises, and looks at her for a long few seconds. Colette could swear that she saw a tinge of red in Seles's smooth cheeks.

"...Thank you." Seles says.

"You're welcome...?" Colette replies.

And with that, Seles is gone. She turns on her heel and disappears back into the crowd-in the direction of the door from which Colette had entered. Colette wants to chase after her, but confusion roots her to the spot.

"There's the little angel!" Crows an unmistakable, and drunk, voice.

"Colette!" Another one chimes in, slightly less drunk, but not wholly sober.

"I found them!" Says Lloyd, who must have gathered Zelos and Sheena to this side of the party.

Colette turns around and tries to be as excited as she wants to be, even as the last twenty minutes take up every inch of space in her thoughts, bringing her head full to bursting. 

Zelos throws his arms around her and lifts her briefly from the ground with the strength of the hug. Oh, yes, he was drunk. She does her best to hug him back. It'd been a while since they had this opportunity - they'd spent a lot of time near the end of their journey reminding each other that asking for a hug wasn't a crime. She could always have gone to Lloyd, of course, but some nights the only two Chosens alive needed each other. 

Should she tell him she's just danced with his sister?

"Put her down! You're making her look stupid!" Sheena says and slaps his shoulder.

He drops her, and they both laugh. 

"Do you feel stupid?" He asks, placing his hands on his hips.

"Hmm," Colette pretends to think, "You might have rubbed off on me."

He brings his hands to his chest and acts as though he's been shot, "Sheena, you were right, I've ruined her."

Sheena puts a hand on Colette's shoulder, "Come on, we'll rehabilitate your image."

"By hanging out with you?" Zelos huffs, "Hypocrite."

"Shut up!" Sheena laughs.

Lloyd, with his arms wide, puts himself between Zelos and Sheena and Colette.

"I'll take it from here, thank you!" He announces with his chin held high.

Lloyd turns to her and offers his hand, "Can I escort you from this rabble, Miss Brunel?"

Colette chuckles and places her hand in his. She owed it to the rest of them to try and enjoy the rest of the night. Did Seles owe her a debt, now? Had she left? Was she still dancing? She had seemed so tired when she finally left...

Lloyd pulls her close, full of his familiar life, and she can only think of different hands. 

"Something wrong?" He asks. Even after all this, she acts as though she can fool him. As though he can't see through her like glass.

And she lies anyway: "Just a little tired."

He chooses to accept it. She chooses not to notice that he worries for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you intend to interpret any of the interactions in this fic between zelos and colette as romantic or potentially romantic PLEASE let the door hit you on the way out i dont want to have to have this disclaimer but so many people on this website suck. if you are normal please enjoy your stay.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i didnt make it clear enough in the text but zelos is absolutely transgender and living as a man in this . ill talk about it later dont worry about it


End file.
